Science
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 4
by
copier
· original author:
an188
The boardwalk stretched onward under a deepening twilight sky, the last streaks of orange bleeding into purple as Havenridge’s distant skyscrapers began to glitter like distant jewels. Glitz and Glam kept walking, their linked fingers gripping harder than usual, the sensual sway of their hips now laced with tension. Every click of their stiletto heels against the weathered planks sounded sharper, angrier. The financial noose was tightening around their perfect necks—two grand due in three days, their savings gutted to a few crumpled hundreds after last month’s “sure thing” scam fell through. The usual cocky bounce in Glitz’s step had turned into a predatory stalk. Glam’s cool poise cracked at the edges, her half-lidded eyes narrowed into slits of pure frustration.
Glitz’s extravagant teal ponytail whipped behind her like an angry banner, the three deep-teal spots catching the fading light. Her cyan pom-pom bounced with each furious stride, black-and-cyan nails digging crescents into her sister’s teal-gloved palm. “This city owes us,” she hissed through clenched black lips, voice rising. “We’re goddesses, Glam. Not fucking charity cases.”
Glam’s darker navy ponytail swayed with lethal grace, the two cyan star sparkles glinting like warnings. Her upside-down heart cutout rose and fell with controlled breaths, but her free hand flexed in its bright-teal glove. “I know,” she replied, tone icy but edged with rare emotion. “We’ve clawed our way out of that orphanage hell. We don’t go backwards.”
Up ahead, a small cluster of familiar faces lounged against a graffiti-covered railing—street artists from the loose circle they sometimes tolerated for intel. A lanky guy with spray cans, two girls with guitar cases, and a tattooed busker waved lazily. “Yo, Glam! Glitz! Come sit, man. We just tagged the old pier—looks sick. Got some cheap beer and a joint if you—”
Glitz stopped dead, spinning on one heel with a manic laugh that cracked at the edges. “Sit? With you pathetic paint-sniffers?” Her voice rose, loud and vicious, the frustration of the empty hat and dwindling bank account exploding outward. “We’re not your broke-ass buddies! Go tag your little walls and dream about being us, losers!”
Glam didn’t raise her voice, but the disdain dripped like venom. She stared them down with those vivid cyan-teal eyes, lips curled in pure contempt. “We don’t ‘chill.’ We don’t share. Crawl back to whatever hole you crawled out of before I decide your faces need rearranging.” The group recoiled, mumbling excuses and scattering like startled pigeons. The sisters didn’t even watch them go—too emotional, too raw. Glitz’s laugh turned bitter, almost shaky; Glam’s jaw tightened so hard her black lipstick cracked slightly at the corner.
They stormed forward again, hand-in-hand, bodies brushing with that familiar electric closeness that always grounded them. But the frustration boiled over in waves. “Every fucking idea is trash!” Glitz snarled, kicking an empty soda can so hard it clattered into the ocean below. “Blackmail that politician? He’s got bodyguards now. Fake crypto scheme? We don’t even have a laptop worth shit. Rob the yacht club? Security’s tripled since last summer.”
Glam’s measured tone frayed as she countered, “What about seducing that heiress we saw last week? Easy marks usually—” She cut herself off with a frustrated exhale. “No. She posts everything online. One selfie and we’re flagged.” Another idea died. Then another. Each one dissected in seconds, impossible, too risky, too small for goddesses like them. The emotional weight pressed heavier with every rejection—the realization creeping in like cold seawater over their stilettos.
Glitz finally stopped under a flickering streetlamp, ponytail flaring dramatically as she whirled to face her sister. Her voice cracked with raw fury and something close to panic. “What if… what if we actually have to get real jobs? Like, waitress uniforms and name tags and smiling at normies for tips?” The words tasted like poison. She shuddered visibly, toned body recoiling in horror, long legs shifting as if the very thought burned her skin.
Glam’s stoic mask shattered for a split second—eyes widening, gloved hand flying to her mouth. “A… regular job?” she whispered, the words dripping disgust. “Minimum wage. Clocking in. Taking orders from fat tourists who think they’re better than us? I’d rather starve on the street than kneel like that. We’re superior. We’re the Glam Sisters. Not… not peasants.” Her voice trembled with rare vulnerability, the megalomaniac fire in her chest twisting into pure revulsion. They stared at each other, chests heaving, the shared horror binding them tighter than any embrace. No friends. No safety net. Just each other and the terrifying specter of ordinary life closing in.
The boardwalk curved ahead into shadow, the distant hum of the city mocking their desperation. Two paths shimmered into view at exactly the same moment, as if the universe itself was daring them to choose.
What do the Glam Sisters do next?
1. They pass by a money changer’s office on the edge of the boardwalk. To their astonishment, the upper window is wide open as the elderly owner locks up and walks away whistling, briefcase in hand. On pure impulsive adrenaline—fueled by rage and hunger for power—they decide to break in right then and there. Sneaking around the back alley, hearts pounding with dark excitement, they discover the only way inside is through a chain-link fence leading straight past an old, rusted electrical transformer humming with dangerous voltage, sparks occasionally flickering in the dim light.
2. They spot a group of university students in lab coats setting up a colorful booth near the pier, holding bright signs: “Volunteers Wanted for Paid Science Experiment – $500 Cash Today! Super Strength, Energy Boost, or Growth Trials – Quick & Safe!” The students wave enthusiastically, clipboards ready, promising immediate payout and confidentiality. The sisters’ sharp eyes lock on the cash box already stuffed with bills, and the words “growth trials” send an unexpected electric thrill through both of them.
Glitz’s extravagant teal ponytail whipped behind her like an angry banner, the three deep-teal spots catching the fading light. Her cyan pom-pom bounced with each furious stride, black-and-cyan nails digging crescents into her sister’s teal-gloved palm. “This city owes us,” she hissed through clenched black lips, voice rising. “We’re goddesses, Glam. Not fucking charity cases.”
Glam’s darker navy ponytail swayed with lethal grace, the two cyan star sparkles glinting like warnings. Her upside-down heart cutout rose and fell with controlled breaths, but her free hand flexed in its bright-teal glove. “I know,” she replied, tone icy but edged with rare emotion. “We’ve clawed our way out of that orphanage hell. We don’t go backwards.”
Up ahead, a small cluster of familiar faces lounged against a graffiti-covered railing—street artists from the loose circle they sometimes tolerated for intel. A lanky guy with spray cans, two girls with guitar cases, and a tattooed busker waved lazily. “Yo, Glam! Glitz! Come sit, man. We just tagged the old pier—looks sick. Got some cheap beer and a joint if you—”
Glitz stopped dead, spinning on one heel with a manic laugh that cracked at the edges. “Sit? With you pathetic paint-sniffers?” Her voice rose, loud and vicious, the frustration of the empty hat and dwindling bank account exploding outward. “We’re not your broke-ass buddies! Go tag your little walls and dream about being us, losers!”
Glam didn’t raise her voice, but the disdain dripped like venom. She stared them down with those vivid cyan-teal eyes, lips curled in pure contempt. “We don’t ‘chill.’ We don’t share. Crawl back to whatever hole you crawled out of before I decide your faces need rearranging.” The group recoiled, mumbling excuses and scattering like startled pigeons. The sisters didn’t even watch them go—too emotional, too raw. Glitz’s laugh turned bitter, almost shaky; Glam’s jaw tightened so hard her black lipstick cracked slightly at the corner.
They stormed forward again, hand-in-hand, bodies brushing with that familiar electric closeness that always grounded them. But the frustration boiled over in waves. “Every fucking idea is trash!” Glitz snarled, kicking an empty soda can so hard it clattered into the ocean below. “Blackmail that politician? He’s got bodyguards now. Fake crypto scheme? We don’t even have a laptop worth shit. Rob the yacht club? Security’s tripled since last summer.”
Glam’s measured tone frayed as she countered, “What about seducing that heiress we saw last week? Easy marks usually—” She cut herself off with a frustrated exhale. “No. She posts everything online. One selfie and we’re flagged.” Another idea died. Then another. Each one dissected in seconds, impossible, too risky, too small for goddesses like them. The emotional weight pressed heavier with every rejection—the realization creeping in like cold seawater over their stilettos.
Glitz finally stopped under a flickering streetlamp, ponytail flaring dramatically as she whirled to face her sister. Her voice cracked with raw fury and something close to panic. “What if… what if we actually have to get real jobs? Like, waitress uniforms and name tags and smiling at normies for tips?” The words tasted like poison. She shuddered visibly, toned body recoiling in horror, long legs shifting as if the very thought burned her skin.
Glam’s stoic mask shattered for a split second—eyes widening, gloved hand flying to her mouth. “A… regular job?” she whispered, the words dripping disgust. “Minimum wage. Clocking in. Taking orders from fat tourists who think they’re better than us? I’d rather starve on the street than kneel like that. We’re superior. We’re the Glam Sisters. Not… not peasants.” Her voice trembled with rare vulnerability, the megalomaniac fire in her chest twisting into pure revulsion. They stared at each other, chests heaving, the shared horror binding them tighter than any embrace. No friends. No safety net. Just each other and the terrifying specter of ordinary life closing in.
The boardwalk curved ahead into shadow, the distant hum of the city mocking their desperation. Two paths shimmered into view at exactly the same moment, as if the universe itself was daring them to choose.
What do the Glam Sisters do next?
1. They pass by a money changer’s office on the edge of the boardwalk. To their astonishment, the upper window is wide open as the elderly owner locks up and walks away whistling, briefcase in hand. On pure impulsive adrenaline—fueled by rage and hunger for power—they decide to break in right then and there. Sneaking around the back alley, hearts pounding with dark excitement, they discover the only way inside is through a chain-link fence leading straight past an old, rusted electrical transformer humming with dangerous voltage, sparks occasionally flickering in the dim light.
2. They spot a group of university students in lab coats setting up a colorful booth near the pier, holding bright signs: “Volunteers Wanted for Paid Science Experiment – $500 Cash Today! Super Strength, Energy Boost, or Growth Trials – Quick & Safe!” The students wave enthusiastically, clipboards ready, promising immediate payout and confidentiality. The sisters’ sharp eyes lock on the cash box already stuffed with bills, and the words “growth trials” send an unexpected electric thrill through both of them.
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June 13
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